That Can Be Arranged
by Ca3n
Summary: One shot, Pansmione. A short drabble with both of them working in the ministry.


Hermione laughed with them and thought they were stupid. "That's great", she said. And then, because it seemed like the right thing to do since they were already telling jokes, she tried her luck as well. Which was, apparently, very little luck.

"Alright, alright, I got one too. So two chemists walk into a bar, yeah? The first one says 'I'd like some H2O, please.' And then the other says 'I'll have some H2O too'. He dies!"

She smiled, because it probably wasn't acceptable to laugh at your own joke when others didn't. She kept smiling, even as Lavender frowned and Padma cocked her head to the side in an uncomfortable unspoken question. Right. Muggle sience. Bad idea.

Hermione hurriedly excused herself, muttering something about paperwork she had to get done, but not before offering another helplessly misplaced chuckle and a mortifyingly awkward wave. Oh god. She knew she wasn't the best at this whole social interaction thing but... well, that was failure on all levels.

She fled down a few thankfully rather empty corridors and finally slipped into her quiet, safe office. Sinking against the wall beside the only half closed door she allowed herself a deep, long sigh. That had been a disaster. And she was perfectly capable of talking to people! Just... not her peers. Honestly, Hermione found their ability to hold three hour long conversations over a pair of shoes fairly intimidating.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor. Highheels, Hermione thought. Positivley terrifying these things. She'd tried to walk in them once, for some ministry function which had decidedly not been worth the bruises. She was determined to not repeat 'the incident' as Harry had taken to calling her minor accident involving a sting and a white tablecloth.

Then the footsteps stopped. Which was definitely bad news. Either someone wanted to talk to her - in which case she should stand up, like, _right now_ , or- Well, or what? People talked to her when they randomly met her in the building, but she wasn't close enough with anyone for them to seek her out without a pretty good reason to do so. And those few friends who might have did not wear high heels.

"Yes?" She called out, her voice making it quite clear how on edge she was. Bloody instincts. Then again, most people who had actually fought in the war where just as suspicious, that argument made for a good defense against accusations of paranoia.

There was an uncomfortable silence in which Hermione took exactly five and a half one second long breaths.

"It was a good joke. I quite liked it. You should not waste your good jokes on stupid people, Miss Granger."

Was that Pansy Parkinson's voice or had someone spiked her tea?

"Um. Thank you?"

"I mean it, you know - They're not worth it."

Well. That was odd to say the least. She was being treated like an actual human being by none other than Pansy Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson who had understood, and liked, apparently, her _chemistry_ joke. That was new. Although, she had to admit, they hadn't spoken at all outside of business, and it probably wasn't fair to judge her for who she'd been as a teenager. Still though.

To be honest, Hermione had been itching to talk to Parkinson for quite some time now, but that was a wish she wouldn't have admitted to harbouring in a million years. And thus she decided this was as good a situation as any to bring (or force if necessary) out her Gryffindor bravery.

"And who would be worth it in your opinion?"

The door was pushed open and Parkinson sat down beside her without so much as a derisive comment about ruining her (admittedly very nice) immaculate black pencil skirt.

"How about me?" Parkinson smiled.

Now Hermione knew for certain that something was wrong. Pansy Parkinson did _not_ smile at people. Especially, _**especially**_ , not at _her_. That was something that simply did not happen.

"Why are you sitting on my floor without complaining? What is it you need so badly?"

Parkinson stared at her in utter astonishment and then... she laughed. _Laughed_. It was surreal. And Hermione really didn't know how to react to that. So she said the first thing that came to mind.

"What?" Wow, Hermione. Someone sounds smart.

"You don't get many visitors then, I take it? That's sad Hermione! That's sad."

 _Hermione_? Sorry? She didn't remember offering the women the privilege to call her by her first name? In fact, she would have bet everything she owned she hadn't done that.

The fact that Par- Pansy, she supposed, had yet to stop laughing made the underlying remark about Hermione's lack of social interaction pretty hard to take seriously.

"Oh, and you surely have an enormous social circle and spend your days chatting away, discussing the merits of sleeping on your right side instead of your left and how to best get a guy to apply your lotion for you?"

Pansy stopped laughing, but, surprisingly, didn't seem as offended as Hermione would have expected her to be.

"The answer to those would be, one, there really are none, I would recommend sleeping on your back, you will find it effectively prevents the pillow from leaving marks on your cheek and, two, bribery or blackmail, both work and I'm speaking from experience here."

She winked at Hermione, who couldn't help but chuckle a little. She had not expected Pansy to have genuine answers to that.

"But that's beside the point.", she continued. "you see, my own lack of friends and acquaintances is what enables me to be here, talking to a very interesting person who doesn't get enough credit if you ask me, and not be kicked out of every wizarding restaurant I enter for the remainder of my life for the bloodstatus of the people I choose to keep company."

"...You mean to tell me you are here, sitting on the floor, talking to a muggleborn, telling her you liked her joke about muggle sience, simply because you _can_?"

"Precisely. Has anyone ever told you you look rather enticing when you're flustered?"

Hermione blinked once, twice, and came to terms with the fact that Pansy Parkinson was flirting with her. Well that was a lie. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, and Hermione realized there had been point, which they had clearly passed by now, at which it would have still been an option to close the door and ignore the woman. The only option now was forward.

This was _madness_.

"No." Hermione said, and it was an invitation that Pansy gladly took.

"How about I tell you all about it over a glass of wine in my torture chamber?"

"I don't drink."

"Why, of course I could always offer you the blood of your enemies. Tomorrow evening, do you believe that can be arranged?"

"I believe that can be arranged."

\-- _Yeah, that's it.--_

 **Some perverse part of me thought writing this justified staying up until 3 in the morning, so I'm not especially surprised at how this turned out, really. But I still hope you liked it (and that it doesn't have _too_ many mistakes), of course.**


End file.
